


Another Time

by BKNY



Series: Innocents [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F, Gen, Here be the spoilers, Loads of spoilers, Post Tresspasser, Seriously ya'll
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-14
Updated: 2015-09-14
Packaged: 2018-04-20 16:18:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4794125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BKNY/pseuds/BKNY
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loss spurs Adaar to return to her past while Josephine holds fast to their future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Inevitable

**Inevitable**

* * *

 

Pacing to and fro, her words interspersed with Orlesian and the common tongue, Josephine Montilyet was the very portrait of outrage. For months she’d played her cards close to the vest, as only an Antivan could. And yet, seemingly without trying, a good-humored and unassuming mercenary from the Free Marches exposed her hand at every turn. Luckily, if there was a single thing she had learned in all of the years she’d spent in Orlais, it was how to convincingly react with indignation at even the most accurate estimation of one’s character.

 

“Innocente?!” Josephine exclaimed in Antivan.

 

The word swirled about her head until she was dizzy with embarrassment.

 

She was a great many things, but innocent was certainly not one of them. The eldest daughter born to Lord Laurent and Lady Sofia Morena Montilyet, she was first in line to become the head of her house. She was a master of the game, one who could read even the slightest facial ticks and play them to her advantage. She was the chief emissary of the most formidable force to rise in Southern Thedas for centuries. She was a strategist who held the power to make men tremble with the stroke of her pen.

                                                                                                

She was a worldly woman grown, not some empty-headed ingénue from a romantic opera!

 

She knew what it was to be courted with flowers and finery. She could even recall the young men who’d sat patiently in her family’s solarium for a chance to spend a chaperoned afternoon in her company. Granted, she had always been too busy studying or watching the ships pull into port to remember when those young suitors were supposed to show up.

 

But nevertheless, Josephine Cherette Montilyet had experienced the sort of Orlesian intrigue most would only ever know from books. To get what she wanted, she’d cleverly manipulated some of the most preeminent nobles in all of Thedas.  Innocent, she was not.

 

It was simply of little importance that she’d never taken a lover or experienced the sort of passion Leliana had described to her in tawdry yet highly enjoyable letters. Busy as she was, she simply hadn’t entertained the notion. 

 

Until now.

 

Turning to face the stunning view of Skyhold’s mountainous landscape, Josephine quelled the urge to gaze upon the doe eyed warrior who sat quietly on the sofa below her, long legs spread wide, an elegant hand resting casually on her distractingly well-developed thigh.

 

Josephine cleared her throat as her mind began to travel. More outrage was in order, she decided. Yes, that’s what this humiliating occasion called for.

 

She needed to make it clear that she hadn’t misconstrued her superior’s blandishments and efforts to ensure her well being as anything more than what it was. How could she? The Inquisitor had made it her responsibility to save the free world, and she was certainly no exception. And it just so happened that the warrior was charming to a fault. Even the notoriously forbidding Madame de Fer had taken a genuine liking to her. Surely, there were women all across Thedas who’d been on the receiving end of her flattering tongue.

 

And with that thought, the diplomat blushed furiously.

 

You’re doing it again, a noiseless and annoyingly self-satisfied voice reminded her.

 

“I know, mother,” she muttered sarcastically.

 

“I’m sorry?” the Inquisitor asked, not comprehending what she’d just said but looking concerned nonetheless.

 

“Nothing,” Josephine reassured her heedlessly as she continued to pace.

 

She was more annoyed with herself than Leliana, truthfully. For she should have known what her friend had been thinking from the previous weekend’s party. In retrospect, she knew she should have taken more time to reassure her before she walked out unfashionably early and retired to her quarters.

 

Leliana was a spy, after all. She must have seen the fleeting glances between her and the Inquisitor over the war table. And perhaps she’d noticed how she giggled too loudly at an old joke over dinner, a joke that wasn’t particularly funny until the warrior had made it. If that was the case, then Leliana must have also noticed how she relished whenever the Inquisitor would stop by her office; to ask her advice on some occasions and, on others, simply sit idle in a chair that was too small, reading books no one but the ambassador had ever shown any interest in.

 

But for Leliana to suggest to the Inquisitor that her sweet words and gallant gestures were somehow more than a result of her most generous and heroic disposition --- well, that was completely unacceptable.

 

And, if she were honest, more than Josephine could have hoped for.

 

So, with sound and fury, she disavowed any notion of impropriety and made it quite clear that Leliana was mistaken entirely. In her bluster, she’d barely heard the Inquisitor jest about sending her flowers and ballads in that low timbre she favored.

 

Covering her mouth in astonishment, Josephine’s heart raced as she realized the joke she’d just heard wasn’t something to be taken lightly.

 

How?

 

It was the foremost word that came to her mind. How could she have misinterpreted the signs so? How long had she been so clueless? How could the Inquisitor, with all of her many exciting adventures and stunning admirers, be interested in one so dull?

 

Above all, how could she avoid telling Leliana that she was right…again?

 

Josephine felt herself shrinking under the weight of her own questions, while the Inquisitor pushed forward as if she’d never been more certain of anything in her life. Full of confidence and calm, she reassured her with gentle words and an even gentler smile until there was little left for tightly wound diplomat to do but relax as she was fervently and thoroughly kissed.

  


	2. Involved

**Involved**

* * *

 

“Josephine?”

 Long, dark hair spun about as Josephine emerged from her reverie with a start and turned around.

"Hmm?” she murmured, looking as flush as she was distracted. Over two years had passed since her first embrace with the woman known to all of Southern Thedas as the Inquisitor.  And yet, she could close her eyes and physically feel as though she was still swept up in that tender moment at Skyhold castle, fixed in another time that was all at once harrowing and magical.

“Are you alright?” Cassandra asked, quietly maternal in both her tone and manner. “Perhaps you should sit.”

 

“I am fine," Josephine reassured her briskly, folding her arms across her chest in a hopeless attempt to warm herself against a chill that no fire could dispel. "But thank you for your concern,” she added absently, remembering her manners.

 

Cassandra nodded and wrung her hands nervously. Looking on, Josephine couldn’t help but notice how uncomfortable she still looked in her robe and headdress. She smiled sympathetically despite her dour mood.

 

“I have just received word from Leliana’s informants,” Cassandra spoke soberly, as was her way. “They say the Inquisitor was seen in Jader, boarding a small shipping vessel chartered to Kirkwall.

 

“Kirkwall?” Josephine repeated thoughtfully as she began pacing along the marbled floors of Divine Victoria’s elaborately well appointed and heavily guarded bedroom within the Grand Cathedral. “Varric granted her a title and estate there,“ she continued, placing together puzzle pieces that didn't quite fit.

 

Cassandra merely shook her heavily laden head.

“I’ve already corresponded with Varric; he’s informed me that the Inquisitor hasn’t stepped foot within the city limits.”

 

Josephine continued pacing, as if movement was all that was keeping her upright. She hadn’t slept for properly for days, not since she’d woken up to an empty bed and a hastily written and barely comprehensible letter from her love.

 

“And you trust his word?” she asked disbelievingly. “Varric Tethras is a professional liar who would say anything to protect a friend.”

 

“This is true,” the Divine agreed with a wry smirk, she knew that better than anyone. “But from what peril? Do you truly believe her to be in danger?”

 

“That is what I intend to find out,” Josephine avowed, halting as she plotted her next step.

 

“Josephine,” Cassandra began softly. “the Inquisitor has experienced much upheaval in these past few weeks. She was betrayed by those she called friend, only to face the contempt of those she gave herself to protect. The life she’s known is no more. She’s lost a great deal---”

 

“And what of her gains?” Josephine interrupted loudly, rounding on the most holy figure in all of Thedas, as no other Andrastian would dare. “What of the life we were to begin together?”

 

“You are upset,” the Divine stated the obvious, knowing the normally staid diplomat would soon feel guilty about her much deserved and long delayed outburst. In light of the fact that the young woman had only been married for less than a day before her consort disappeared, Cassandra thought she was handling herself rather admirably. "Understandably so."

 

“Forgive me,” Josephine looked away, shame faced. “I will take my leave at once.”

 

“Josephine,” Cassandra stopped her. “I faced much opposition from the Grand Clerics when I informed them that the Qunari Herald would be married to another woman before the Sunburst Throne, by my benediction no less. I would not have drawn any more of their ire than necessary, had I any doubt about your feelings for each other. Give her some time. I trust you both to keep your vows.”

 

Josephine genuflected gracefully in reverence. 

“Thank you, Your Perfection.” 

* * *

 

Hazel eyes stared down into the black abyss that was commonly known in Kirkwall as ale. The city, she’d found in her infrequent visits had many quirks, their taste in drinks being the foremost among them.

 

“Aye, are you gonna drink that or does the Qun command that you loaf around taverns looking like a tosser?”

 

Adaar held her tongue. In the years since the Qunari insurgence in Kirkwall, all horned visitors, be they Tal-Vashoth or Vashoth were treated with equal, almost casual scorn. She expected no less from a drunkard in a tavern aptly named the Hanged Man.

 

“What are we drinking to?” she asked the human, raising her glass for a toast.

 

“Being alive or some such,” he answered, raising his glass in kind.

 

“To being alive…or something!” Adaar boasted miserably before bringing the flagon to her lips, only to choke the moment the bitter liquid hit her throat.

 

“Hear Hear,” a sloshed elven man across the room cheered before promptly passing out and falling out of his seat.

 

“Hey, nice disguise, Inquisitor! With that insanely large black coat on, I almost didn’t recognize the enormous horned woman sitting at the bar was you.”

 

The familiar voice instantly filled Adaar with some much needed mirth.

 

“Varric,” she greeted him happily. “I didn’t see you come in.”

 

“You overgrown types never do,” he said, hopping up onto the bar stool beside her. “So, why the cloak & dagger? I thought that was Leliana’s specialty.”

 

“I’m taking a trip,” Adaar confessed without actually confessing. “But before I do, I need to make sure my affairs are in order.”

 

“Whoa, slow down, Herald! This sound serious. Is everything alright. The arm---”

 

“I'm fine,” she said a little too quickly and sharply to be believed. "Everything's just...a bit too involved to explain right now."

 

Varric pushed his drink aside and turned to face his friend.

 “Why do I feel like there’s something huge you’re not telling me?”

 

"Because you're a smart man," Adaar answered him with flattery, a blatant attempt to charm her way out of scrutiny. "My holdings in the city, I want to make sure that Josephine has rights to them as...as my wife.”

 

“Well, shit,” Varric exclaimed loudly. “Congratulations, Mrs. Ruffles.”

 

“Shhh, don’t act so shocked,” Adaar chided him with an affectionate pat on the back. “You’re the one who gave me the idea, after all.”

 

Varric feigned indignation, “I did no such thing!”

 

“So, you didn’t tell Cassandra I was planning on proposing?”

 

“Well,” Varric conceded. “I may have said something. After the whole Qunari plot to kill everyone in Halamshiral thing, it’s all a blur.”

 

“Sure it is,” Adaar grinned before taking another swig of the warmest and most horrid tasting ale she’d ever had the misfortune of consuming.

 

“So where is the lucky bride? A celebration is in order.”

 

“She's---on her way back to Antiva,” Adaar answered him reluctantly, her eyes downturned as she fought to block out unbidden memories of grey and gold. Antiva, she reminded herself, that was where her love belonged; not holed up in some stone-walled castle in the frigid reaches of the Frostback Mountains or toughing it out in some leaky wooden shack, hidden away in the middle of nowhere. Josephine Montilyet belonged basking in warmth along the shores of Antiva, with the cool spray of the ocean lightly brushing her sun kissed skin. She belonged with her family.

 

Talvalo Adaar, on the other hand, had been a living breathing violation of the Qun, a misstep produced in Seheron and reared a stranger in the only land she’d ever known. She belonged nowhere. And so she'd forged her living fighting for petty coin in far flung lands, only to gain renown fighting for the survival of both the Empire and the Kingdom. By writ of the Divine she was the Herald of Andraste. But without a weapon on her back and a fight on her hands, she was a mere stranger to herself.

 

“Listen, Varric,” Adaar began again, reaching into her cloak to pull out a small scroll bound with red sealing wax and stamped with the Chantry’s official signet. “I need to go, but here’s all the proof you’ll need.”

 

“I don’t need proof, “Varric rejected the document. “I run shit around here, remember? I’ll take care of it.”

 

Adaar opened her mouth to thank her old friend before quickly shutting it again.

 

Noticing the change in her demeanor, Varric looked up to see one of the newest members of his city guard standing in the doorway of the tavern.  Her white hair falling haphazardly about her beautiful dark features, she looked as though she’d seen a ghost.

 

“Thank you, Viscount, for everything,” Adaar bid farewell to her friend and ally before rushing off in a hurry.  

 

“Don’t be a stranger, Inquisitor,” Varric said to himself dolefully. “Andraste preserve her.”

 

* * *

 

Pushing her way out of the Hanged Man without so much as a glance in Shokrakar's direction, Adaar prayed she wouldn’t follow her. She made it as far as the steps that descended to the harbor before she learned her prayers would not be answered.

 

“By the authority of Aveline Vallen, Guard Captain of Kirkwall, I command you to stop!”

 

Breathing an impatient sigh, Adaar did as she was told and turned to face the inevitable.

 

“Shokrakar,” she began jovially, only to have a loud and hearty slap land square against her cheek. “Good to see you, too,” she finished evenly, in spite of the painful sting of the strike.

 

“You bloody fool,” Shokrakar cursed her. Staring at Talvalo’s amputated arm with equal parts rage and confusion, she looked to be on the verge of tears. Her words poured forth as though she were in a nightmarish daze. “The way you wielded your weapon. The command, the swiftness...You were the finest warrior I’ve ever known. And look, look what they’ve done to you! Was it worth it? Was…she worth it?”

 

Talvalo’s demeanor quickly changed at that. She stood as rigid and emotionless as Shokrakar had never before seen her. When at last she spoke, she did so in a voice so calm and monotonous it was unnerving.

 

“If you value your position in this city, it would be wise of you to choose your next words carefully.”

 

Well aware of Adaar’s friendship with the Viscount, Shokrakar judiciously heeded her words.

 

“I warned you.”

 

“I’m still alive,” Adaar reminded her softly, already regretting her previous threat.

 

“My sweet girl,” Shokrakar lamented, cupping her former protégé’s face between her hands. “There are some fates worse than death.”

 

And with those parting words, Shokrakar lowered her hands and walked away. 


End file.
